


Focus

by Anonymous



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fear Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, S&M, Sexual Violence, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 21:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18290588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Reaper takes a deep, rattling breath like he's trying to control the impulse, but the air around them goes darker by shades. A moment later Sombra can mark each individual pinprick of pain that is his claws reforming, digging into her skin. "Remember," he accuses, "you asked for this."





	Focus

His grasp goes surprisingly soft despite the pressure of his hands and Sombra looks down to watch the clawed metal tips of his gloves melting away to nothing. The worn leather is far gentler, glides against her thighs like a whisper, but - "like that's going to make me focus," she taunts Reaper. "I thought you were trying to teach me a lesson."

She pulls up half a dozen feeds between them just to antagonize him further, holographic images reflecting in her eyes and lighting up his mask with electric purple. The shadowed crevices take on a deep, dusky twilight, edges thrown into neon contrast; he looks like something out of the kind of fairy tale she would have heard in whispers as a child, cruel and inhuman.

"Sombra," he warns her.

The nanites coming off his coat fill the air around the both of them. They seem drawn to Sombra's skin, painting her in shadows with a mind of their own. Alert. Agitated. Reaper himself seems less than entirely solid, hard and unyielding everywhere she's pressed against him, but far too fluid even in stillness to be real.

Sombra's not entirely sure how it works - not entirely sure it's something he could explain either - but she's seen what happens to the people Reaper kills. And she should know better than to fuck with him when he's on such a hair trigger, in pain and half out of his mind, but Sombra's never been cautious enough for that kind of restraint.

"Turn it off." His hands won't still, gripping her thighs bruisingly tight. Sombra thinks he could pull her skin off without the claws, but that's not nearly as much fun.

"Make me."

Reaper topples her back onto the edge of the fountain, and it can't be humanly possible for him to take up as much space as he does. Sombra can't see anything else - not the stars, not the fountain to either side - it's a swirling mass of _him_ all around her. Even her feed is dimmed between them.

"I know what you're doing," Reaper growls.

She can feel her hair getting wet at the ends, soaking up the water below, and she has to crane her neck to avoid getting drenched. Sombra rolls her eyes for the affect, but she's anything but bored.

"Then we can cut to the chase already." Her pulse is racing, mouth watering in anticipation. The stone digs into her shoulder blades, all of Reaper's weight pinning her in place below him.

Between them, the holographic images continue to move - among them security camera footage from Talon HQ; Reaper will have words for her about that later - but Sombra can _feel_ his self control beginning to unravel. She licks her lips. "Don't tell me you're afraid to hurt me."

Reaper takes a deep, rattling breath like he's trying to control the impulse, but the air around them goes darker by shades. A moment later, Sombra can mark each individual pinprick of pain that is his claws reforming, digging into her skin. "Remember," he accuses, low and gravely, only just louder than Sombra's quick, staccato panting, "you asked for this."

He lifts a hand and Sombra doesn't have time to react before she feels the sharp metal claw-tips settle against the side of her head. And the way he cups her cheek in his palm feels like the gesture could otherwise be gentle, but Sombra doesn't trust it. Anticipation has her whole body pulled whipcord-tight beneath him, nearly trembling as she waits for him to make his move.

Reaper strokes the shaved side of her head with his claws, the edge of pain serving as her only reminder not to relax into his touch just yet. It morphs into a sensation like needles being dragged along her scalp and Sombra shivers, insides quivering, but she tries desperately to hold herself together. He's still not pressing hard enough to break the skin.

Not yet.

The panic rises up in her chest, into her throat, but she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction. Sombra gulps back a breath and tightens her hold on his coat.

"Not so talkative now," Reaper mocks her, metal scraping along metal as he finds the implants nestled up against her skull. He's still cradling her head in his hand, but it feels so much more sinister, so -

There's a pinch and then Reaper begins to tug on the plated wire. Sombra's blood runs cold.

"No, no, no," she tries to plead with him, too terrified to move her head enough to even think about pulling away. Her tech can handle a lot: bumps and scrapes and bruises, but Sombra isn't stupid enough to think that's what Reaper has in mind. He's already breathing heavy, sharp and dangerous in a way that belies the careful touch.

A moment later, his hips grind against her thigh. Pain blooms against the side of her head and then all of the feeds go dark.

 _Everything_ goes dark.

The jagged metal still catches against her scalp like Reaper hasn't torn it out entirely, but for the first time in a very long time, Sombra's brain is utterly quiet. Her body... much the same without the distraction of ongoing alerts and surveillance, and she's newly aware of Reaper's weight - the heavy press of his body against hers - in a way Sombra doesn't think she ever has been before.

"I'll make you pay for that," she vows, dazed and subdued sounding to her own ears. He's still playing with the wires, tugging and twisting in a way that makes Sombra's skin crawl and her toes curl. It's a momentary fixation, she worries. The calm before the storm. Despite the twist in the pit of her stomach, there's a heat creeping through her limbs.

When he speaks it rumbles along her skin. "Can't handle a taste of your own medicine?" Reaper taunts, other hand curling around her upper thigh tight enough to give Sombra the impression of his claws. It's what she thought she wanted, but there's still the distinct taste of panic on her tongue. The exhilarating fear that she's actually, finally lost control - that if she started to struggle, there would be no stopping him now.

The pads of his fingers move over her cunt through her leggings until she arches into the touch and then the hard, icy edge of his claws are back. They slice through her leggings without resistance, sudden spots of cold blooming against Sombra's thighs. She shivers without meaning to and hears Reaper's quiet, sinister laugh in response.

Exposed to the cool night air, her cunt feels overheated, messy and swollen. "Please," she whispers and has to bite her lip - clench her fists so tightly she can feel her nails even through her hold on his coat - trying to keep from squirming at the slightest pressure knowing all she could possibly grind against are his claws.

A single digit presses into the flesh of her labia like the point of a knife. Sombra forgets how to breathe entirely.

" _Focused_?"

"Huh?"

She can't - focus, that is - on anything but Reaper, huge and dark, nanites sucking at her skin like he wants nothing more than to devour her, the pounding of blood around her clit and deceptively small pinprick of pain she aches so badly to push into.

"Is. That. Going. To. Make. You. Focus."

He sounds almost amused to have to spell it out for her, but his thighs clench around hers and his voice resonates with a _hunger_ that prickles all the way up her spine.

"No," Sombra lies, trembling, for fear that if she says yes that'll be the end of it. She doesn't think she's fooling anyone, least of all herself.

Reaper laughs. Then his claw twists.

Sombra whimpers, groans, kicks her toes against whatever plating is pressed up closest to her. The cold of his metal-tipped gloves burns and she's almost ashamed of how badly she wants him to tear into her with them. "Ga-abe," she whines, high and breathy.

He abandons the wreck he's made of her implants only to drag the very tips of his claws down the side of her neck. The back of her collar is wet and for a brief moment, Sombra thinks he's drawn blood. There are tendrils of him wrapping around her limbs, stroking over the exposed skin at her wrists and nape, touching and tasting and -

 _Teasing_. Sombra swears. She's too flustered to argue or imagine anything beyond the ache of her cunt and metallic _need_ for something between her teeth. If she could push herself up far enough to grab at his mask she might even be stupid enough to try to kiss him.

Sombra claps a hand over her mouth rather than give him the satisfaction.

Then Reaper nudges the tip inside her and Sombra forgets how to breathe. The cold metal burns like a brand against her overheated skin and she has to fight not to clench down around it.

"Had I known this would shut you up," Reaper gloats, and really, Sombra doesn't want to give him that, but when she opens her mouth again to talk back, all that comes out is a desperate, breathy moan. It's going to hurt at any moment, it's going to be too much, it's-

He traces the folds of her labia with the precision of a surgeon wielding a scalpel, the motion of his hand pressing the single digit in and then out of her with a deliberate slowness.

And then another of his claws clicks against the first, pressing in alongside it with the next flex of his wrist.

It's not only the cold that burns then, but the stretch to accommodate Reaper's metal-tipped fingers with her whole body pulled so tight. His thumb rests just above her clit, the blunt edge of the talon pressed to her skin and the point nestled in the curve of her pubic bone. Sombra bites down on her own fingers to keep from moaning out the words she can't quite keep off her tongue: an embarrassing litany, though for mercy - or for more - even she isn't sure anymore.

She has no way of knowing how long they've been here without her overlays, only that her neck burns from the strain of holding herself up and her thighs are trembling beneath Reaper's. She's overwhelmed by just how big he is, just how ruthlessly intent on the mess he's making of her; mask tilted in a way that Sombra can't make out where it comes to a point in the darkness between them.

She can't read him. The terror washes over her anew with the realization. If he wants her to hurt, if he simply wants to fuck her - or fuck _with_ her -

His fingers quicken, pushing into her more forcefully. A third claw curls into the space beside her clit and Sombra can't keep from panting at the steady motion. Her belly is hot, wetness dripping down her over-sensitive skin, and now the tendrils that he'd used to play with her earlier twist themselves around Sombra's limbs as if Reaper didn't think he had her pinned thoroughly enough already. She lets out a squeak from between her fingers as they're forced away from her mouth.

"Not so tough now, are you?" It edges on fond in a way that scares Sombra far more for the way it makes her stomach clench, heat rising all the way to her cheeks. She tries to squirm beneath him, but it's no use. His nanites hold tight. “I wondered what it would take to make you behave.”

“Jus’ for that,” Sombra starts, too breathless to pretend otherwise. It feels as though her body should be on fire. She doesn’t know how to continue - or what threat she could possibly make, impaled on Reaper’s claws and going dizzy from the intensity of it alone.

“You’ll what,” Reaper interrupts. He’s far too pleased with himself, smoky-smooth satisfaction licking along Sombra’s skin with every word in a way that has her cunt throbbing, abdomen going tight.

“Ohhhh,” she whines, unable to stop herself from clenching around his clawed fingertips any longer. Even the burn of it feels impossibly good: sharp, _delicious_ pain only adding an edge to the full-body pleasure threatening to drag her under. The hiss of his breath is a vicious, sparking cascade of its own and Sombra’s hips are bucking up into his hand before she can wonder if he’ll allow it.

His claws dig into the sides of her neck, enough to momentarily distract from the sudden lack of pressure until it’s suddenly all Sombra can focus on, white-hot sensation lighting her whole body up from the inside out. Reaper clamps his hand over her mouth before she can wake up the whole city, and then his mask is crashing up against her cheek. Hard and cold and unyielding along the side of her jaw - “ _Come_ ,” Reaper growls.

The deep rasp of his voice reverberates all through Sombra’s body and she couldn’t stop herself from crashing over the edge if she tried. She bites at the thick leather of his gloves, keening from somewhere in her throat that only seems to be amplified by the hold he has on her. Surely that’s the only thing holding her together anymore at all.

She can’t breathe, can’t _think_ beyond the roaring in her ears and the sudden, all-encompassing darkness on all sides. Her toes curl, thighs twitching with the need to close around Reaper’s hand, whole body straining against his grasp. And his fingers don’t slow even then, forcing every last electrical burst of sparks up her spine and through her limbs until her whole body quakes with the force of it and Sombra thinks that’s going to be it for her - and how insufferable would Reaper be if she managed to pass out?

When she finally goes limp, wrung out and boneless and already aching in a far less pleasant way, Reaper drags her back off of the ledge of the fountain. Sombra watches him straighten up, trying her hardest to finally catch her breath. She thinks she could stand to lay there for the next month, wet clothes and torn implants - let alone anything else - be damned, but only the cloud of nanites surrounding him belies anything out of the ordinary.

She can’t feel the answering buzz without her tech, but Sombra’s seen him after he kills. Knows that particular high so intimately that her body almost musters a response, exhausted as she is. She could stand to pester him more often.

Though in that case, she’s starting to suspect she could use a few more upgrades.


End file.
